


Hell To Your Doorstep

by briannarileyy



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Kinda, Loosely based on the Count of Monte Cristo, Rick never found his family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 15:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17769296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/briannarileyy/pseuds/briannarileyy
Summary: After waking up from a coma induced by his gun shot wound, Rick learns that the world he once knew was gone. He successfully escapes the city with the man who had saved him, and his son. Now, the desperate search for him family begins.





	Hell To Your Doorstep

**Lori (32 days after first infection)**

 

 

Shane’s car idled quietly against the pavement, and it was the only sound Lori seemed to register. They had been returning to the campsite from a particularly disappointing run, having found no water, and minimal amounts of food.

 

 

She knew that it wouldn’t be enough. After the world had gone to shit, Shane had fled the cities with her and Carl in an attempt to evacuate before the airlines shut down. Now, they inhabited a small campground in the secluded mountains, away from with city. Away from the dead. And the many families who had followed them had turned to Shane for guidance, for leadership. And it wasn’t enough.

 

 

 _Don't look Lori, Don't look..._ Lori repeated in her head like a mantra. Lori bowed her chin, avoiding all contact with the world on the opposite side of the blood stained glass. Abandoned cars aligned the road, puddles of blood and mucus painted across the uncut grass, and the decaying corpses lie incommemorated. 

 

 

A bit ahead, Lori could see the outlines of roaming bodies in the distance. Flesh and blood remnants hung from their rotting teeth, and their discolored irises seemed to pop out of their skulls. Lori still didn't understand the infection, no one did really. Lori truly wanted to believe that these monsters still held some identity of whoever they used to be before the outbreak. She hoped that they knew that they hadn't always been feral, cannibalistic beasts. 

 

 

She let a saddened gasp escape her throat when her eyes locked on a young boy, one that seemed to have somehow gotten himself caught under the tire of one of the twisted cars. His ribcage had been crushed by the weight, and there were a few cuts on his legs and arms from where the windows had shattered. Lori ordered Shane to stop the car. 

 

 

Shane parked the car and grabbed his gun before stepping out of the car with Lori. She slowly approached with caution, eyeing its movements as the walker raised its weak arms up to her. She bent on her knees, looking into the unblinking, lifeless eyes. Dormant, and colorless. Hardly giving any indication that before, those eyes once shone like starlight, or lit up like fireworks. She had seen the same unlit flame. 

 

 

The walker faintly resembled her son, Carl. 

 

 

_Carl...I found you..._

 

 

One of the worst parts about their weekly runs is not knowing if her son would be safe alone. She always ordered Dale to watch over him, knowing his aloof nature had stirred up trouble around the camp more than once.

 

 

Her fondest memory of her son creating his usual chaos was when he and Sophia had went "frog hunting", and happened into Daryl and Merle's camp. Merle had stormed into her tent that night, and yelled that her son was "pissing around with his shit". When Shane witnessed Merle's exit from the tent, he had followed him back to the woods and threatened to kill him. Shane's rather violent tendencies had stirred up a few incidents around the camp too.

 

 

She thought about the way he held her that first week at the camp. Andrea, Shane and Glenn had found cabinets of mason jars filled with alcohol during their run, stashed them and brought them back to camp. Merle had called dibs on the first swing. The children had been sent to their tents, and the adults circled around a low fire, swapping stories about their old lives. The only adults who hadn't taken part were Daryl and Carol.

 

 

Lori had downed three whole jars before Shane had wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her slowly, helping her walk back to her tent. Carl had fallen asleep, and Shane had slowly lowered her onto the sleeping bag, draping one of the spare blankets over her shoulders. His usual sarcastic, and overall intentional asshole nature had evaporated, seemingly genuine concerned for her welling-being. 

 

 

She wasn't sure why, maybe it was the life-crushing loneliness, or the knowledge that everything around her was slowly falling apart, but her body seemed to act for itself, and she leaned up and kissed him. A quick peck that caused Shane's eyes to widen and for him to step away, breaking contact. "G'night Lori." 

 

 

The next morning, she had followed him out to a creek in the woods, and took off her clothes.

 

 

Two days later she awoke to her stomach recoiling, and a concerning amount of vomit staining the tent floor. 

 

 

 

 

The trapped walker was clearly beginning to get aggravated at its futile attempts to catch the woman. She grabbed the pocket knife stashed away in her belt and plunged it into its head, before sitting up and turning on her heels back towards the car. 

 

 

 

**Shane (5 days after first infection)**

 

 

 

 

His conscience was clear. His sins might not be forgiven and his soul might not be cleansed, but he was clear.

 

 

 

-

 

 

He hadn’t visited Rick once, not even when Carl begged him to come with him. He often spent his free-time at the gun-range. He liked to imagine that the target were his enemies, or were suspects he and his crew were hunting. The day after Rick got submitted into the hospital, he had lost hours shooting a mantra of bullets at the dummy, hallucinating a face he barely recognized; the face of the man who had shot Rick in the chest. 

 

 

He locked his fingers on the trigger over and over, shooting and aiming for his skull, hoping to destroy the brain and splatter his blood all of the floor, just as he had done to his partner and best friend. However, each time he took the shot, the bullets wouldn't connect. They either flew off to the side, or landed in his shoulders or upper arms. 

 

 

He wondered if Lori was angry with him. She never expected much from Shane. Hell, he had always been a bit flaky when it came to their annual celebratory dinners for Rick. He seemed to always have something celebration-worthy happening. She  _never_ expected anything from Shane, but he can admit that she must've assumed, or at least hoped that he would make some effort to see him. 

 

 

He could always formulate some bullshit lie, "I jus' don't think I coulda' seen him that way, y'know?". Deep down, he worried about his own psyche. He had known this man all his life, they had practically grown up elbow to elbow. As a child, he considered Rick his best friend, as they grew, that title dwindled. 

 

 

His mind focused back at the task at hand, he raised the pistol and tightened his grip on the handle. His index fingers intertwined, and his mind provided the helpful image of another familiar face on the dummy. It took him a second to realize, but he could see the hallucinated features of Ricks face. Shane felt sick, still, he aimed and applied pressure to the trigger once more.

 

 

A small crater from the bullet dented the targets head.

 

 

 

 

 

**Rick (7 days after first infection)**

 

 

 

He had been shot before the outbreak, he understood that much. What he didn't understand was how a shovel had been thrust into the back of his head by a boy. "Daddy! Daddy! I got him!"

 

 

 _Carl_. That was Carl. Had to be.

 

 

"Carl...I found you..."

 

 

"Daddy I got the sumbitch, I'm gonna smack him dead!" Rick turned his head to the best of his ability, already feeling dehydration and the pain from the attack working together to slip him into unconsciousness. A man he hadn't seen before run behind the thing in the street, revealing a gun and shooting a bullet into its skull. 

 

 

The man approached Rick, and pointed the pistol at his head. "Mister, what's that bandage for? You tell me, goddammit, or I swear," he cocks the gun, "I will kill you." Ricks vision swamp rapidly, and the world seem to distort. His head lulled back and everything, the world around him, the man and the child, faded to black. 

 

 

 

He awoke to the boy, the same boy who had almost killed him yesterday, guarding him with a baseball bat. His hands had been bound to the head board, but it didn't appear that any harm had come to him while he was under. 

 

 

The man had interrogated him again over his wounds. After the stranger had raised a palm to his forehead, and announced that he did not have a fever, he pulled a pocket knife out of his back pocket, and raised the edge to Ricks eye. "You try  _anything_ and I will kill you, and don't think I won't." His bounds were cut loose and his wrists were freed.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

_"You shot that man today."_

 

 

_"Man?"_

 

 

_"You shot him in the street out front- a man."_

 

 

_"Friend, you need glasses. It was a walker."_

 

 

 

-

 

 

  
"They're alive, my wife and son."

 

  
  
"How can you know?"

 

 

"They packed some clothes, not a lot, but enough to travel." 

 

 

This man,  _Morgan,_ was stubborn and hopeless. He must've truly believed that Rick's family was dead, or  _walkers._ "You see the photos hanging on the walls? Neither do I." Morgan gives out a light chuckle, before taking a seat. 

 

 

"My wife- same thing. There I am packing survival gear, she's grabbing photo alb-" Morgan cups his hands over his eyes, suppressing a quiet sob at the aching memory.

 

 

"I bet they're in Atlanta, they have a refugee camp there," Duane announced in a quick attempt to change the subject.

 

 

"If that's where they're at, that's where I'll go." Morgan cocked his head, meeting Rick's gaze, "going out there alone- it's suicide. You wouldn't last a day." Rick didn't want to admit it to himself, but he was probably right. Even with Rick's prior knowledge about shooting guns, it wouldn't be enough to survive through the night. Morgan had said that the walkers became more active after dark. But Rick had to know, if his family were out there, they could be stranded, starving.

 

 

"Come with me."

 

 

 

**Morgan (9 days after first infection)**

 

 

 

 

_Come with me._

 

 

Morgan was dense, but he wasn't an idiot, Rick knew that if Morgan were to stay here with Duane, he wouldn't survive. Houses would be raided, supplies would run low, and medication would be needed. 

 

 

If he went with Rick, he could get Duane out of the city, away from the walkers. He could get Duane to safety, teach him to shoot, teach him to survive. The shelter, God biding it's still running, would harbor food, water and clothing. They could survive, until the CDC reveals the cure. 

 

 

"We leave at sunrise, first thing," giving Rick a quick nod of agreement. It was risky, but it was a chance he was willing to make in order to give his child a shot at a better life, to give his child something he himself hadn't felt in so long, 

 

 

_Hope._

**Author's Note:**

> Hola! ヾ｜￣ー￣｜ﾉ thank you so much for reading uWu, i promise the stories timeline will get a lot more clear because rn, its kindaaa all over the place. So if you were able to read through this and understand it, i applaud you! im not sure when the next chapter will be up, so make sure to check bacck in soonヽ(‘ ∇‘ )ノ


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